


Pulvis et umbra sumus

by ironbutterfly25



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, More Fun In STARS, Multi, Past Mind Control, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 22:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironbutterfly25/pseuds/ironbutterfly25
Summary: Albert Wesker was incapable of dying without taking the world with him. She could have died with the helicopter crashing on the unforgiving ground, perished in the volcano's raging flames, or slaughtered by his devastating wrath. But when her eyes opened again, she gazed at neither heaven nor hell. Jill Valentine found herself in Raccoon City once more.





	Pulvis et umbra sumus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I already reposted all of my old works here, it seems I've overlooked this one. Pulvis is pretty dear to me , probably because it's fun and just lighter in a sense compared to my other JillWesk works. And it's in S.T.A.R.S. setting and that has always been my favorite. Also, time travel, 'let's fix it' fics have always been entertaining to me. So I hope this one will be enjoyable enough! Expect some smut (of course it's ME, it's just my weakness haha) and dark romance and confusing angst ahahaha!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and giving my works a try! 
> 
> Your thoughts and comments are always welcome~:D

 

_**Pulvis et umbra sumus** _

_We are but dust and shadows_

* * *

The helicopter's blades broke into pieces - its sound deafening to her ears. Jill scrambled for the rocket launchers scattered on the floor, as the tyrant rampaged in the inferno below them. She loaded the RPGs with a warhead and a booster, preparing to deal the final blow. Uncertainty settled in her gut when she hauled the weapon over her shoulder. Its weight on her tired body strangely overwhelming. There was a tremble in her bones. She had not gone  _against_  him for years. All thoughts of retaliation were shredded by the drug. All attempts were futile after she was literally wired to follow his will.

"Chris! Sheva! Use these!" She handed the weapons to her brave companions, all the while wondering why she couldn't use them herself, why she could not just trust herself. The P30 had filled her bloodstream for so long, the possibility of its poisonous residue changing her—it scared her. It was a risk she couldn't take.

The chopper tilted. Josh's voice cut through the air, filled with panic.

Her stomach dropped. She pressed herself tight in a corner, eyes sliding close.

She should have gone with Chris from the moment he had freed her from Wesker's control. But she had stayed behind... for no discernible reason besides shameful cowardice.

_What was she afraid of?_

She looked at Chris. He tried to lock his aim on their nemesis without falling off of the dying bird.

Jill could smell it... with the gas leaking... with the smoke reaching... and with the flames raging around them. She could smell  _death_  coming.

The missiles were launched.

They hit home. Chris never missed. The best marksman until the very end.

And then they were  _falling_ , spiraling down.

Chris reached for her, crushed her in his hold as he murmured reassuring words on her hair. "He's dead, Jill. It's over. It's finally over... We're going home..."

She returned his embrace, cried on his shoulder as she whispered distressing words on his skin. "We're not going to make it, Chris..."

His hands were heavy on her small shoulders. He placed a little space in between them to look into her eyes. Chris cradled her face in his warm palms, and smiled. He was steadfast and strong even in the face of their demise.

"Yeah. This might be  _it_  for us... I'm always with you, partner. We'll meet again on the other side."

She caught his tear-stained lips with hers and held tight onto his hands as everything else shattered out of focus.

Death had tried to claim her before.  _Twice_. The first was inside that church in a burning city as the virus ravaged her body. The second was inside the arms of the  _god of death_  himself, but he had chosen to breathe life back into her instead.

She remembered the excruciating process of returning to the land of the living...

It had been painful... difficult.

The helicopter crashed. There was unbearable heat and suffocating smoke. There was one split second of immense pain before everything faded into complete whiteness and blackness.

Then it was painless.

What was that saying?

— _Third time's the charm_.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and drowning. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt deflated, trapping the air out.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and breaking. She couldn't move. Her bones felt broken, useless under her stretched skin.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and just falling. She couldn't think. Her whole body felt alarmingly hollowed.

Pain and numbness mingled and plagued her.  _Why couldn't she just rest in peace—_

Her eyes snapped open and everything came rushing back in. White noise in her ears. Bright lights in her eyes. Her lungs greedily gulped down oxygen. Her limbs lashed out all at once. Her body was whole but felt desensitized.

"Jill?" Someone called out, a familiar voice. Her head turned slightly to its direction. Her vision was blurry. "Jill." Her heart raced as she recognized Barry's voice. The image of him was hazy. But she could see that he was holding a sandwich in his hand. "The doctors said you will be coming out any moment soon. But I didn't expect that it will be now!" He moved closer. She could vaguely make out the smell of melted cheese and tuna reeking from him.

But why was Barry...  _here_?

Her eyes scanned her surroundings—newly painted white walls... freshly arranged flowers... recently changed IV drip. She was in a typical hospital room.

Did Barry fly out all the way to Africa? Did he came to get them out just like what he did back in Raccoon?  _Where was Chris?_

"Chris?" Her voice was a pathetic croak. It scratched its way out of her parched throat, grating on her ears.

_How long had she been out?_

Barry's features became clearer with each passing second. He busied himself by a small table, pouring a glass of water for her to drink.

"Where's Chris...?", she asked again, disoriented as Barry came to stand next to her bed. Her words were slurred as she searched her body for grotesque burns and hideous scars.  _Nothing_. Even the skin on her chest was flawless. Her fingers slipped into the loose collar of the hospital gown, her brows furrowing in confusion. The tubes that were once inserted into her flesh were merciless and had made each day a misery to live in. The jewel had always scorched her skin whenever the drug dose was made more potent.

She looked at Barry again. His face was clear now... and younger somehow. He placed a hand under her tensed shoulder, tried to ease her up on the pillows. She recoiled, curling in tight against the mattress.

"Barry... Where is Chris?" The monitor set up to watch her heart rate released a startling loud beep. They both turned to it, watched as her heartbeat increased.

"He's at the headquarters. We're taking turns to check up on you."

"Is he okay? He wasn't injured? Not at all?" Her questions seemed to baffle Barry for a moment.

"He wasn't that close to the explosion when it happened. You, however—"

"Is Wesker dead?" That particular query seemed to offend the older man. An unimpressed frown drew his mouth down.

Somehow she felt the need to apologize, just so she could erase that disappointed look on Barry's face.

"I mean—"

"Wesker took the brunt of the blow. The doctor said it will take a little longer for him to wake. His vitals have been stable. The captain shielded you from the explosion." Barry was cracking a joke, obviously trying to make her laugh or something. Her lips parted to tell him to cut it out, that he could at least try to make another joke that could be well-received by her, that he could consider that this was  _not_  a funny situation at all. "The operation was pretty tensed and tough. But we managed anyway. It wasn't your fault that there was another bomb... You wouldn't be able to disable it in time. Wesker—"

"Stop it, Barry!", she spat out. Her chest heaved. It hurt to shout. A pounding started deep in her head, dragging a cry out of her mouth. Her throat was closing up... Her tears spilled, rolling down her cheeks. Her shoulders were wracked with tremors as her hands balled into fists against the sheets.

_What was he saying?_

The pounding in her head worsened.

"Stay calm, Jill." Barry left the glass in his hand on the table. "I'll get your doctor!" She watched him rush out of the room. The sliding door banged loudly on the wall when he opened it.

She took a deep breath in, willed herself to calm down. Her fingers reached for the drip secured under her skin. Her hand shook as she carelessly pulled it out. Then she was throwing the sheets off of her body. Her pulse on the monitor became erratic with each anxious movement. The oximeter was ripped off of her fingertip next and she slid off of the hospital bed.

Her body felt lighter. Her skin was pale... but not as pallid as before.

Something was off.

Something was not right.

_What was it?_

Her knees buckled as she tried to reach the door. She managed to catch herself on her hands and knees on the hard floor. Her limbs trembled with the lack of strength. But she crawled towards the nearest wall, dragged herself up with its help as she continued making her way to the exit.

A slim vertical window was carved out of the door's frame. The sight of her reflection on the looking glass made her heart stop and time halt.

She found herself staring at the image of her at  _twenty-two_.

* * *

Jill willed herself,  _harder_ , to a sense of calmness. She composed herself, mechanically pushed herself back under the stiff blankets and onto the thin mattress of Raccoon General Hospital.

It was only a disturbing dream. Her rationale said as panic tried to overtake her being.

She only had to go back to sleep, she thought as she stared up at the newly painted ceiling, or  _wait_  to be jolted back to the reality that was Kijuju.

Her entire body tightened as she kept her eyes shut.

Concentrating... Hoping... Praying...

Fate couldn't be this  _cruel_. God couldn't be this  _pitiless_.

Her world didn't change when she opened her eyes again.

* * *

She found a newspaper left on the chair Barry had been occupying. The date stamped on the issue was _—_ _Sunday, May 11, 1997_ _—_ ten days before her twenty-third birthday.

The third time was supposed to be a charm. The third time was supposed to work. Her third death was supposed to give her deliverance.

What was really expected from her?

When would she be done with all of this?

How was she to survive this vicious trial?

 _Her questions were always unanswered_.

* * *

The hospital discharged her the following day. Chief Irons allowed her to take the rest of the week off and instructed her to report back to work the very next week. Each friendly face made her stomach turn. Each smiling face made her head ache. Each dead face made her want to run away.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like it had been specified that she continue playing the role of a heroine.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like she was there to relive each horror Raccoon and Umbrella had to offer.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like all those dreadful events that happened in another life was set to happen again in this life.

_Maybe she could—_

"Jill!" Chris tucked her small frame under his arm, pulling her close against his tall form. She stared ahead at the bustling street, terrified to look at him. The first time she had gazed at his unlined and carefree face, she had broken down _—_ cried and sobbed for reasons she couldn't explain to the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. "We're visiting Captain Wesker. You want to come with us?"

"No, Chris." She expected the disappointed look on his young face, nearly disapproving of her show of ungratefulness.

Her life had been saved by Albert Wesker.

 _Again_.

* * *

 _May 16, 1997, Friday_  —Her own wall calendar taunted her. She had spent the last five days trying to reinstate herself into the alternate society.

The same apartment unit was being rented by her in this time. The red sofa set in the living room had been replaced the other day. It was ugly. She didn't know why she had bought it in the first place.

A sage green couch served as its substitute. The throw pillows were striped with white. Green was good. It looked clean and calm against the beige walls and the tanned hardwood floor of her flat.

Lighting a cigarette, the smell of lit tobacco leaves immediately reminded her why she had stopped smoking a long time ago. But she needed it, as her lips wrapped around the white filter. The hurried drags she then took did nothing to reduce her stress. She had tried getting dead drunk and it did nothing to change her current situation as well.

What was she supposed to do here?

* * *

 _May 18, 1997, Sunday_  —Her wrist watch now read 7:44 p.m. Visitation hours were until 8:00 p.m. She had decided to take the longer route to the hospital. And she had decided to deliberately walk in small and slow steps.

She would most likely be turned away. Unfortunately.

Then she would have to drop by another time... preferably with her shiny new Beretta on her person.

"He's in Room 407.", the hospital's receptionist informed her. "We're having some trouble with the elevator. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Miss, but you will have to take the stairs." The woman was fair and kind-looking. And Jill couldn't help it but wonder if the woman survived the September 1998 outbreak. Her mind then, without any warnings, conjured up an image of the woman's face—rabid and rotting.

Her whole body recoiled at the terrible mental image. And she had to run to the stairs to disperse the thought.

There was a high possibility that she would go crazy before Raccoon turned into an infested city.

* * *

A man was sliding the door close to Room 407 when she came. It was Vice-Captain Marini, paying a visit to the person who would put a bullet in his heart a year later. His face brightened at the sight of her.

"Visiting Wesker too huh, Jill?" She gave a small nod, unenthusiastic about the whole thing. "Dr. Birkin said he should be waking up soon. No one wants to worry but the good doctor had been saying that for two weeks now." He let out a sigh and she felt compelled to give a comment.

"How is he?", she asked carefully, her concern well-practiced.

"Nonfatal burns. His left side took most of the impact. The flames caused second degree burns on his left arm. It looked really bad when we first brought him in. There might be some serious scarring."  _Scarring_ , she scoffed at the probability. The virus he would eventually inject himself with would most likely take care of that little flaw on his physical appearance. She hoped that he would be horrendous for as long as possible.

"It was my fault.", she said, tone laced with pretend guilt. "Now the captain is in a coma." Enrico retained his clement expression as he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing then patting. He had always been fond of her, kind to her like Barry.

"No one's at fault here, Jill.", he started, voice mild but solid. "Don't let guilt eat you up. Is this the reason why you refused to check on him in the past few days? No one is blaming you. In all honesty, you took the biggest risk on the disposal of that bomb. It was simply too late when we had gotten the tip that there was another explosive in the area."

She didn't even know what the mission was about. She would have to read the report on  _that_  once she returned to work on Monday.

"I have to return to the R.P.D. Will you be okay on your own here? You have nothing to worry about. Wesker is notably less frightening asleep." He laughed a little and that made her smile.

"Thank you, Enrico. I'll be fine here on my own."

Her features arranged themselves into a carefree mask.

"The captain never scared me anyway."

* * *

Inviting herself into the room, she immediately took notice of how the entirety of his left arm was loosely bandaged. The rest of him was unblemished.

He almost looked like a different person without his signature sunglasses and with that serenity on his face.

What if he was a  _different person_  in this time?

Jill walked towards the room's window. She gazed out at the shimmering lights on the expanse of Raccoon City.

What if there would be  _no_  viral outbreak?

She turned to him again. He was silent and seemingly harmless on that mattress. She found herself taking a seat on the empty chair at the side of his bed.

What if the chain of tragedies could be changed?

The sound of his pulse from the heart monitor seeped into her ears. It was a lulling sound, compelling her hand to smooth the thin blanket covering his still body. It was too quiet in that room. And in her head, his anger and curses and out of control power raged like a storm. She shivered at the memory.

Her eyes fell on the lines on his right palm. She studied them, fascinated by the carves and scars there. It appeared strange on him - the signs of humanity. His hands had always been in leather gloves. Always hidden. Untouchable. Her finger traced over his callouses now, all the while wondering if she could foresee his character and his future by fixating on the unsuspecting marks on his skin.

_"How will our fates unfold now, Dr. Wesker?"_

 


End file.
